Fight or Flight
by Mars on Fire
Summary: Johnny lay on the cold ground, Pony's screams for help echoing in his ears. Johnny's point-of-view of the stabbing of Bob. One shot.


**Disclaimer: **S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders, and I'm just playing in her sandbox for fun. I also don't own "Scared" by the Tragically Hip.

**Author's Note:** This is a one shot originally posted back in 2005. I keep tinkering with it trying to get Johnny down - I find him really hard to write. Comments are welcomed.

**Summary: **The stabbing of Bob from Johnny's POV.

* * *

**Fight or Flight**

_I could make you scared  
if you want me to  
I'm not prepared, but if I have to_

XXXX

_**Late Saturday night  
September 17, 1966**_

"Stay down this time grease."

Johnny rolled over in the cold, dew-soaked grass, clutching his abdomen and taking in sharp breaths. The sounds were so far away, the fresh threats the only thing in his mind. He coughed, a sharp pain shooting through his mid-section.

They were going to beat him again, just like before. All those months before, and he knew they'd come back, they'd promised as much then. They were going to deal with him as soon as they handled the mouthy one.

Pony's shouts sounded far away. Shoes slid on concrete, water splashed and the _voices_. Each voice was like a whip – shouting at each other to get him, put him under, hold him down, hold him down. Laughter punctuated their words.

He rolled to his side, gasping for breath.

"Johnny!"

They had him - those Socs had Pony. That handsome one with all the rings, the one who had been dangerously drunk after the movies, the one who had beaten him so badly those four months ago. His Soc friends had kicked Johnny to the ground, disabled him for the moment. He choked in air and looked over towards the fountain, panicking at the thought of them beating Pony like they had him. Pony was just a kid.

They were all laughing - holding Pony's feet as he kicked, pushing him down into the water in the fountain. He was drowning. The choked sounds of his friend's voice as he called out made his stomach turn to water.

"Johnny!"

He reached into his back pocket, feeling the rough wood of the handle of his switchblade, his friend's frantic screams echoing in his head. He brought the knife out and flicked it open, six inches of blade glinting off the lights shining around the fountain.

He held the knife behind him, shielding it from their view. He stood up, his legs leaden. He took a few deep breaths and tried to stand straight.

Some of the boys had backed off, standing at the edge of the fracas, lines worrying their foreheads. They were watching Bob with shifty gazes as he and another boy held Pony under the water.

"You - you let him go!" Johnny said, approaching the edge of the group and holding the knife out. He had seen Tim Shepard in a knife fight one, watched him slash a River King after what went down with Big Mikey Dean all those months ago. Tim had held the switch blade firmly, and Johnny tried hard to remember how. One of the Socs flicked out his own switch, a small three inch blade. He looked at Johnny warily.

"I mean it, let him go!" Johnny said, his voice more confident. If only Darry and Soda would come looking for Ponyboy.

The windows of the houses around the park remained dark, black eye sockets in sagging houses, the occupants asleep, or too scared to do anything. No one called the fuzz when things happened around here.

Bob let go of Ponyboy, and Johnny's breath caught as he saw his friend was still in the fountain, his face hardly above the water line. This kid didn't care – wanted it that way, maybe – and he started to approach Johnny, an amused smile on his face.

Pony looked lifeless in the water.

"Yeah, what're you gonna do about it?" Bob said, coming closer.

"Let's go man!" one of the Socs said, folding his knife back in and backing towards the car. He glanced at the fountain, at Pony lying in the water, but did nothing.

"I mean it, you better go," Johnny said.

"Nah, grease, you better," he said, crackling his knuckles and wavering as he moved. He was drunk. He was off balance.

He could take him.

"This time you're not getting up," Bob said.

Bob lurched at him suddenly, and Johnny flinched, ashamed of himself when he heard Bob's laughter.

"Come on, man, let's go!"

The others were all getting in the car. Johnny took his eyes from Bob for just a second to glance at Pony, lifeless in the water.

Please let him be alive, Johnny prayed silently.

"He won't do it," Bob said. "Come on grease. Do it."

Bob lunged again, drawing a fist back.

He saw all the times fists had come at him, all the times baseball bats, two-by-fours and beer bottles came at him. They all came down at him now, all of them, every single one of them.

He moved forwards, grabbed Bob's shoulder and took the punch against the side of his head, sound dimming for a moment. Johnny punched forward with the knife, feeling it hit soft flesh. He angled it up, then pulled it out, surprised to see red running the length of it. He looked up at Bob with wide eyes. Bob looked down at him, then at his midsection, clutching with his hand and watching blood drip through it. Johnny stood back, poised like a cat about to jump, his hand slick with blood.

His eyes flicked to the others, frozen like statues, eyes round.

"Holy shit, he stabbed him! He stabbed him!" one of the guys was yelling. There were heavy footfalls and slamming doors, and the Mustang engine roared to life like a monster, and they drove off quickly as Bob sank onto the pavement.

The boy tried to speak, blood seeping from his open mouth. The gurgling whistle he managed to make made Johnny's eyes hurt.

Johnny took a breath and shuffled towards him, leaning down and watching Bob's head loll to the side, his gaze fixed forwards on nothing, and a pool of red draining onto the cold pavement. He let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes and opening them slowly, as if expecting Bob's lifeless body to be a mirage. He felt sick as he watched the blood mix with the water on the cement.

His legs weakened, his stomach turned sour and –

Water.

He whirled around and saw Pony in the fountain, then rushed over. He grabbed his friend's legs and dragged him to the edge, grabbing under his arms and pulling him over onto the cement with a thump.

He lay Pony on his side and watched carefully.

"Come on, man," Johnny said, his throat thick.

He pounded Pony on the back, watching water leak from his mouth. He heard the sucking sounds of him trying to take in air and pounded his back again. Pony choked up more water, then took in a deep breath and lolled onto his back, his eyes fluttered shut.

He watched Pony's chest rise and fall slowly and let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding.

Johnny sat back against the fountain, the sound of lapping water sounding like a freight train. He was barely aware of the cold wind, the freezing cement below him.

He was surprised to see the knife was still in his hands, slick with someone else's blood. Bob was lying in a circle of light, his body still, the pool of blood still growing. A dog barked in the distance, then howled mournfully.

"Johnny?"

He looked over and saw Ponyboy, stirring awake and turning over to look at him. Johnny looked over at his best friend, shaking.

There was no turning back. Everything was over.

"I killed him," Johnny said slowly. "I killed that boy."

_I killed him._


End file.
